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The few feet that
Darlington was ahead with made a huge difference. He, followed by another guy,
was the first to emerge from the field. I was close behind, a bit overwhelmed
by a pile of books that I was holding but still fairly fast. Instincts had told
us to leave the field immediately when we realised that everyone else was
following us. We needed no Cutman to tell us that we were hiding in plain sight
and that it was no longer safe. We ran diagonally across the yard towards the
other end. A disturbed house helper, clad in her floral maid dress, froze
whilst holding a dish, ready to throw away some water. Had she decided to do it,
I might have received my second baptism. She opened her mouth as if
intending to say something. But stopped. I felt pity for her. How was she going
to account for the maize stalks that had been felled by dozens of students seeking
refugee?
About 50 metres behind,
I heard some screeching car brakes. The car responded positively, coming to an
instant halt. And the voice emerged, “Batai
vanhu, batai vose…. Basa rakutinetsa” (Catch them all. They are bothering
us). One angry cop barked whilst getting into the field. His instructions were
followed by some piercing screams, confirming the operation had started. The
girls screamed and yelled. I tried to run faster but the screams had
disoriented me. Even so, I did not stop. Darlington got out of the field
straight on to the road and continued running without looking back. The second
guy did the same. I was the third to get out of the yard, a few metres behind.
I looked left, ready to get on the road. As I was about to get on the road, I
glimpsed something that made me dread with fear. I couldn’t ignore it. I
sweated. Maybe I have been sweating, having been running for quite a long distance,
but at that time I became conscious of my sweat. It was cold and swift. I did
not need anyone to tell me that I was scared. My body did it for me. Adrenaline
was released instantly. The Fight or Flight Hormone. But who was I going to
fight? The gun-wielding cop? How was I going to fly away from the cocked gun
which was pointed at me? This time adrenaline brought only fear. With just one
instruction, I threw my books away and sat down. The matter had escalated
beyond resistance. Beyond a few songs and dance at NC6. It had grown bigger
than Geology and Ideology. With my face buried in my palms, I kept convincing
myself that I was not a rebel. I remembered only one incident when I was mistakenly
punished for being a rebel in an otherwise impeccable record.
